


candle in the window

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AOS Advent 2016, Angst, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Tribute, canon compatible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 19:11:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8812798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: Jemma goes to watch the sunrise, and finds a candle in the window.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Will-Hate will be deleted.

for [AOS Advent 2016](http://aosadvent2016.tumblr.com/). Prompt: Candle.

-

The air was unexpectedly warm as Jemma crept out of her bunk that night. She almost thought about shrugging off the soft, but thick, dressing gown she was wearing as she made her way through the halls. Without it, though, part of her still felt like she might float off toward the ceiling. Not to mention, she was living with hundreds of people now, and the chances of being happened across were considerably higher than they had been on – well – _there._

So Jemma crossed her arms in front of her chest, holding the gown cold and close, and leaning into the strange warmth after so many months of sunless night. It wasn’t a sun’s warmth. It was stuffy and manufactured. But at least it was real and she was feeling it, and it didn’t stink like sand and death. And besides, the sun would be out in a few minutes to cleanse it.

She approached one of the largest windows on the base. She’d watched the sun rise a few times from here before. Fortunately, it was quite the view. Smiling, she ran her eyes over the panes, and out, toward the horizon, over the trees and valleys whose outlines would soon become clear again brilliant gold and red. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something.

A candle, sitting on the sill. 

It was small – it could quite easily fit in her palm – and long-since extinguished, but something about it folded a soft, gentle hand around her heart. It felt like being held. And at the same time, seeing it so small and cold, in conjured up the expansive void of loss she had felt watching that glass bottle shatter over the valley. Their last hope. 

Hers and – 

With a shuddering breath, Jemma dropped the candle back onto the sill. Tears sprung into her eyes and she wiped them away, in case anyone saw, though nobody was awake. 

Nobody was awake, and they all knew by now, anyway. 

_Will._

She moved her lips, but aimlessly, failing to make a sound. In the unnaturally warm, eerily silent morning, she remembers running, so fast and so far against such deprivation that her heart is thudding its way out of her chest and she can’t breathe, she can’t breathe she’s so excited. There was so much hope, and joy, and peace, for so long. It had taken so long for Will’s absence to come crashing down on her. And now… now that she knew he was gone, really gone, forever – burnt to ash – she couldn’t help but feel that it was his absence, his irreparable absence that had burnt the candle out. Like the cold breath of his wronged spirit had snuffed the flame. 

Not that she believed in such things, of course, and so she shook her head and took a deep breath. But she had to right the candle, which had rolled onto its side when she had dropped it. For some reason, she felt compelled to stand it right. 

“Jemma.” 

The voice was gentle, but so unexpected it sent a shiver down her spine and she almost knocked the candle off the shelf entirely.

“Sorry.” Fitz apologised softly, and lowered his tone to almost a whisper. “I was wondering if you’d like some tea?” 

“I – um – I’d – “ With her back still turned to him, Jemma fumbled for a few moments. Then she turned, fresh tears prickling at her eyes, and with a cheerfulness that was not so much forced as being dragged up from the depths, wondered, with feigned casualness –

“What are you doing up so early?” 

Fitz shrugged. 

“Ah, my sleep schedule’s a mess, don’t worry about it.” 

He clenched his jaw. It was killing him, scratching at his heart, to keep his gaze indirect, so that he didn’t swallow her with staring. She was still trying to pretend that she wasn’t crying. Noble, he thought. Sad, but noble. He had always envied her strength, even now as he struggled against the desire to wrap her in his arms. Instead, he nodded when she agreed that she would like some tea, and would come for it after the sunrise. As an afterthought, she seemed to realise that the first rays were already creeping in behind her, and turned back to the window, in a hurry to catch them. 

Fitz lingered for a while. When she said nothing more, and did not move again, he left her be. As promised, she met him in the kitchen a few minutes later, with the powerful air of having witnessed something so grand and multifaceted that it was neither humbling and solemn, nor inspirational somehow. It simply was, and had to be absorbed.

Jemma sat at a stool at the bench with this pensive air about her, and carefully put a small candle down before her. They both watched it for a little while, drinking their tea, and after a while, Fitz spoke. 

“It was Coulson’s idea,” he said. 

Jemma blinked, as if distracted. Surprised. 

“For Will?”

“No, actually,” Fitz confessed. “Originally, it was for you. It’s Coulson’s candle. He had it in his office when you were…” _Away_ was no longer specific enough, so he swallowed and said, “At Hydra. When you disappeared again, he gave it to me and told me to leave it in the window and keep it burning until you came home. And I did. And it worked.” 

She smiled, and though tears were starting to prick at his eyes and his voice, Fitz smiled too. The candle, of course, scientifically had nothing to do with her return, but she didn’t need to tell him that. They held onto the sentiment instead.

“When we got you back, I guess I left it,” Fitz continued. “…but we could relight it. For Will? If you like.”

Jemma shook her head.

“He can’t come home now,” she whispered. 

“I know, but, the spirit of it.” 

She shook her head again. 

“It’s cruel to keep the candle burning when all hope has been lost. We have to move forward. He’s dead, Fitz, he’s _gone._ It’s over. I came home, so, thank you, but… I have to move on.” 

“Okay. Consider it dropped.” 

“Thank you.”

Jemma sighed, and took another long, slow draft of tea before standing slowly and making her exit. The base would be coming back to life soon, and she should at least be dressed for the occasion.

Fitz took her half-empty cup. Jemma took the candle. It disappeared for a few days but then, a week or so later, it reappeared on the windowsill. It remained unlit, untouched. Small and cold. No longer a beacon, but a memorial for a man the world had long since forgotten. 

And every day, that candle watched the sunrise.


End file.
